War's Mistress
by Brawl499
Summary: In light of the SOP collapse of 2014, Emily Sabauri, a now ex-Haven Trooper, has signed up with the PMC Black Flag. But, when a protection job in Russia in the year 2015 goes horribly awry, leaving Emily on the verge of death, what happens when you combine an ex-Haven Trooper, a lust for revenge, and cybernetic implants?
1. Explosive Beginnings

Author's Note

So, following up on advice from one of my friends (and encouragement on the idea from on of my readers, The Handsome One), I am going to be posting all of the big, novel-length stories that I resort to writing whenever I get writer's block on my Borderlands and Halo stories. This way I don't completely drop off the radar for months at a time.

Anyway, about this story, I am going to let everyone know now that I have done a lot of research in light of this story, so you will be seeing a lot of technical terms as you read further chapters. I've actually had to keep the private browsing on just so that my search history doesn't come up as things like "Sulfuric Acid, Napalm, List of Machine Guns, List of Thermobaric Weapons, HEAT Warheads, List of Recoilless Rifles, ICBM Definition" and things like that, otherwise I would look more like I'm preparing to instigate WWIII instead of write a fanfiction.

Prologue

My name is Emily Sabauri. I'm an ex-Haven Trooper who has decided to go into PMC work in order to keep doing the only thing I have ever known:

Killing.

But, what is about to happen will change my life so drastically that, if you had told me that morning what was going to happen, I would have just slept in. Or I would have told the Prime Minister of Russia to not take the damned subway…

Chapter 1

St. Petersburg, Russia, 2015. Petergof Fountains.

"So, what do you think of this place?" The Russian Prime Minister, Maksim Durak, asked. He proceeded to look over at his assigned guard detail, which was a mixture of the Kremlin Regiment and American PMC mercenaries. The Kremlin Regiment were oddly non-formal by Russian standards, wearing the standard Russian military clothing, balaclavas, tinted ballistic goggles, what looked to be adapted versions of American ACH helmets, and Dragon Skin body armor, all of which were painted in SMK Urban camo. They were armed with AN-94 rifles, two of which had Kobra sights, while the other two simply had their iron sights, instead having GP-25 grenade launchers on the underside.

The mercenaries, which were five in number, wore dark cargo jeans, black tank tops or T-shirts, and military-grade black combat boots, with black and dark purple muscle suits underneath. They were similarly outfitted with balaclavas, Dragon Skin armor, and tinted ballistic goggles, with the addition of pouches on the thighs and lower back for additional ammo. Three had ACH helmets, while the shotgunner of the group was wearing a backwards, black baseball cap with the company logo, a white skull on top of a black, pirate-like torn flag with two crossing AEK-971's behind the skull. This was all topped off with the company name, which read "BLACK FLAG PSMC, INC." directly below the logo.

The squad leader of these mercenaries, Emily Sabauri, who used to be a Haven Trooper, instead continued to wear her old Haven Trooper suit. The suit was relatively untouched, aside from changing the tan spots on the suit itself to a dark purple, changing the helmet's lights to purple, and adding the PMC logo to her left shoulder.

Two of the mercs, both male, were carrying FN F2000 rifles, while one of the women carried a G36KV carbine, and the other carried a SPAS-15 shotgun, with all of them carrying Beretta Px4 Storm handguns on backup. Emily, sticking to her roots, carried a P90, with a machete and a Five Seven handgun on backup.

"You mean the fountain?" Emily wondered, wanting to avoid as much conversation as possible.

"No, Russia. You're from here, yes?" The Prime Minister questioned, turning to look at Emily. All it would take is a bit of stumbling for her to be thoroughly convinced that he's currently drunk.

"No sir. I'm from New York, and my father was Georgian, so not quite." Emily answered, hoping that the Prime Minister doesn't ask for her to elaborate. Her past was pretty shaky after all. At least, what she could remember from it. Combine that with being socially awkward due to being trained as a Haven Trooper, where the closest thing to communication was silent head nods or squad-based hand signals, and a recitation of her past would be worse than trying to sum up War and Peace in five sentences.

"Ah, yes, that's right. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, I might have had a little bit too much to drink earlier." The Prime Minister clarified, laughing it off.

_Is this guy a walking Russian stereotype or something? _Emily thought to herself. Most Russians that she had met previously were very responsible, intellectual, and effective. This man, on the other hand, was something else entirely.

"It's no problem sir. I'm here to make sure you stay safe, not argue over where I came from." Emily stated, eager to have this job done already.

"Ah, speaking of coming and going, have you ever been on the Russian subway system?" The Prime Minister asked randomly.

_This man was definitely drunk, if not worse._

"No sir." Emily answered quickly, praying to her paycheck that this man wasn't about to ask her the dreaded question.

"Want to see it for yourself?"

_Dammit…_

"I would rather not." Emily replied, trying to defuse this unseen bomb of a situation.

"Why not?" The Prime Minister wondered, not seeming to have a care in the world.

"Because, sir, my job is to escort you from here to the Kremlin, not go sightseeing." Emily clarified, attempting to do so in a nice way.

"Nonsense. We don't have anyone waiting on us. Come, there's actually a station nearby." The Prime Minister suggested, turning around and walking towards a subway station entrance in the distance.

"No, sir, wait. Sir! Dammit." Emily grumbled, watching as the Prime Minister obliviously continued to walk.

_It's bad enough that I can't just shoot him in the leg and drag his drunk ass to the Kremlin. It's even worse that I'm on __**his**__ payroll right now. _Emily thought to herself, signaling for the other Black Flag mercs and the Kremlin Regiment to follow the Prime Minister.

"So, is he always like this?" One of the Black Flag mercs asked, checking the safety on his F2000 as entertainment.

"Only on weekends." One of the Kremlin Regiment, who evidently spoke English, answered with a thick Russian accent.

"What is he like during the rest of the week?" The Black Flag shotgunner asked, joining in on the conversation.

"An actually decent and respectable man with a brain bigger than a pebble. It's only when he drinks that he gets to be so stupid." The Kremlin Regiment member clarified, thankful that any badmouthing that the Prime Minister hears will not stick in his head for more than a minute.

"So basically a reason to actually appreciate Mondays." Emily said in an annoyed tone, thankful that the Prime Minister had at least stopped.

"Here we are." The Prime Minister announced, a slightly idiotic grin on his face.

"Sir, I strongly urge you to reconsider." Emily almost begged, hoping that some sort of sense would cross his mind.

"Nonsense. You'll be returning to America soon, so I want you to appreciate our country while you're here. The rest of you, stay out here." The Prime Minister ordered, grabbing Emily's wrist.

"Sir, that's a bad idea." One of the Kremlin Regiment also pointed out, thinking that the situation had escalated a bit too much.

"Nonsense. I have her with me. I'll be fine." The Prime Minister said confidently, making Emily either follow him into the subway purposely or lose her balance and tumble down the stairs. Once at the bottom of the staircase, the Prime Minister wasted no time in getting two tickets. Whether those tickets were to get them closer to the Kremlin or not was anybody's guess.

"Sir, seriously. If my superiors find out that I'm letting you go down here-" Emily started to attempt reasoning, until she was cut off.

"Your superiors won't have anything to worry about. Look, there's our train." The Prime Minister said confidently, gesturing to an arriving train. Emily was starting to ease up a bit, until she got a good look at what a group of passengers on the train had underneath their jackets.

"Shit, suicide bombers! Get down!" Emily yelled, only just managing to get her sentence out before a loud bang went off, followed by her blacking out for a few seconds.

Eventually, Emily started to wake up. Everything was blurry, she could hardly hear a thing, and everything hurt like hell. The subway was obliterated. Lights had fallen out, walls were shredded and destroyed, and there was glass littering the floor. Looking to her left, Emily saw more of the same, with the addition of her arm, if you could call it that, which was reduced to a bleeding stump that ended just below her shoulder. Looking to her right, she saw that her right arm was intact, but shredded badly enough that small segments of bone could be seen. Adding to her day, the Russian Prime Minister was laying to the right of her, a large piece of shrapnel embedded directly in between his eyes.

_I knew this was a bad idea._

Emily attempted to sit up, only being stopped by the immense, unending pain that hit her. Now regaining her hearing slightly, Emily could hear what sounded like eight sets of footsteps racing towards her, followed by the Kremlin Regiment and her fellow Black Flag mercs coming into sight. Each group took to their own, with the Kremlin Regiment running for the Prime Minister while the Black Flag personnel ran for her.

"She's still alive! Somebody get a medic in here!" The Black Flag merc armed with a SPAS-15 yelled, kneeling down directly to Emily's right. Emily proceeded to fade out again, with the last thing she saw being the Kremlin Regiment getting up, presumably confirming the Prime Minister's KIA status.

3 Weeks Later. Black Flag Headquarters, Manhattan, New York City.

_Am I dead? _Emily asked herself, the overwhelming sense of agony from before having disappeared. Opening her eyes, Emily's vision focused, eventually making out the bright light to be made up of multiple smaller, circular lights.

_Nope, not dead. Just stuck on a fucking operating table._

Everything felt cold, like she was laying bare on a metal table in a room with the AC turned up too high. And surprise, that was actually the case. Feeling like she had her limbs back, Emily raised one hand to her face as she sat up. She immediately reeled in shock when an odd noise came from her arm, followed by it reverting to a drab, dark gray color, just like her suit. Most of her body stayed the same, but her other arm, and both of her legs from halfway down the thigh all the way including her feet also changed to the same dark color.

"Oh, you're finally awake." A familiar voice said over an intercom.

_Great…__**Him**__…_

"Of all the people I get to talk to after being blown up, and you get to be the first one, Mark?" Emily asked in a loathing tone. She didn't hate him, it's just that the two of them probably harassed each other with sarcasm more than a pair of friends should.

"Yeah. I am your advisor after all." Mark answered, sounding like he was enjoying himself.

"Well, then care to tell me what the hell happened?" Emily asked, turning to sit properly on the table, her strange new legs hanging off the side.

"You blew up." Mark said bluntly, knowing that Emily was asking about herself.

"I mean what happened to me." Emily clarified, looking at her arms again.

"You were far too badly wounded to just amputate a limb and call it done, and far too valuable for the C.E.O. to just let you die, so we upgraded you." Mark informed.

"So you mean to tell me that I'm a cyborg now?" Emily questioned, doubting that she heard that correctly.

"Yep. We took the specs of your Haven Trooper armor and basically filled the arms and legs with CNT Muscle Fiber, modified them to be solid limbs instead of suit pieces with stuffing, and connected them to you. We also hooked your brain directly to the limbs so that you could easily trigger their 'special features'." Mark elaborated, sounding like he proudly had a part in the design.

"What do you mean special features?" Emily asked nervously, thinking that 'special features' could have a _lot_ of implications.

"Take a look at your nails." Mark said cryptically.

"What nails? They're smoothed off and round like a glove now." Emily asked, confused as she examined her hands. Right then, small, silver colored razors popped out, one on each finger, like what was on the feet of her Haven Trooper suit. Bending forward, Emily looked over the edge of the table to see that the same thing happened with her toes. One small, silver razor for each toe.

"See? Claws. You can use those to easily climb just about any surface or, if the situations requires it, they do work pretty well as a melee weapon on unarmored human targets." Mark explained, sounding like he was enjoying himself.

"Anything else?" Emily asked, not wanting to admit that, regardless of them making her look like a walking cat joke, the claws _were_ pretty cool.

"Your heels can also change configuration. When they're extended you can catch and hold something like a sword or machete like it's nothing." Mark informed. Emily proceeded to look down at her heels, watching as a round object sprung out of the back of each heel, extending to about three or so inches in length, as well as her toes automatically curling upwards, making her feet look like some sort of military-grade high heels. Deciding to try it out, Emily proceeded to stand up, walking around slowly and carefully as she became acclimated with her new legs.

"Did you guys replace any internal organs?" Emily asked curiously. She hadn't been able to breathe this well since her days as a Haven Trooper.

"Yeah. Most of your organs were damaged at best from the blast except for your lungs and heart. But we decided to replace those anyway because of your 'stress smoking' a few months back." Mark explained, remembering when he saw what was, at least assumed to be, Emily's original lungs.

"Hey, I had a good reason for that." Emily defended, not wanting to go into the details. Otherwise she might be forced to take up that hobby again.

"Yeah I know. I just didn't want you to forget about it." Mark prodded, trying to sound falsely blunt about it.

"Well, while we're on the subject of modifications, what happened to my skin? It made a weird noise, and now it's colored like my suit." Emily questioned, wanting to cover all of her bases.

"Octocamo. We had it built into all of your cybernetic limbs, as well as your actual suit. What you probably saw when you woke up was the octocamo mimicking your skin. Your skin color is one of the presets, so you can pretty much look like a perfectly normal human as long as your nails are retracted, your heels are retracted, and you don't punch someone through a wall." Mark explained, almost having forgotten to explain that.

"Any other upgrades?" Emily asked, wondering if that was all they had done.

"Your eyes are also upgraded. Now they have optical implants, which allow you to see farther and clearer, as well as literally zoom in. We also reinforced your bones and gave your body a thin layer of CNT fiber to minimize blunt trauma. Don't worry, you can still feel anything that touches your skin, and we left your junk intact." Mark elaborated, thankful that he was sitting on the other side of a reinforced wall from her.

"Say anything else like that and I'll start to think that you actually like me." Emily taunted, reaching for a pair of black cargo jeans and a Black Flag company hoodie laying on a table in the corner of the room.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I will admit, you chose a great place to have a tattoo though." Mark prodded with equal sarcasm, referring to the one tattoo she had, which was placed on her back, just above the hips. It read _War is hell, and I'm the Devil_ in Gothic Tribal Font.

"Glad you like it. By the way, care to open the door?" Emily retorted, standing by the, sadly locked, door that lead out of the room.

"Aw, but we were having _so_ much fun bonding." Mark joked sarcastically, remotely unlocking the door.

_Maybe now someone can tell me who the hell did this._


	2. Short-Time Break

Sorry that this chapter is fairly short and mostly dialogue, I'm just testing myself with what is technically my first real venture into writing characters that are completely my own, with no parameters for a personality or mannerisms to stick to. With that said, I would especially like to hear feedback on my presentation when it comes to dialogue.

Either way, the first big bit of action will be coming in the next chapter, and any and all feedback is welcome.

Chapter 2: Short-Time Break

"By the way, there's one last upgrade that I forgot to mention." Mark's disembodied voice spoke up, seemingly coming from within Emily's head.

"Why am I still hearing your voice?" Emily questioned, hoping that there was a good reason for this.

"Emily, I can see your mouth moving on the security cams, but I can't hear you. Put two fingers up to your left ear and try again." Mark suggested, watching as Emily did exactly that.

"Assuming you can actually hear me now, any particular reason why it feels like I have a Bluetooth earpiece installed in my skull?" Emily questioned, a faint sense of an invasion of privacy starting to creep in.

"The higher-ups wanted to make sure that I could still reach you at any time. The communications gear in your helmet will do just fine whenever you're in the field, this is just for any other time that you need to know something." Mark elaborated.

"So did you help make any of this stuff, or did R&D just give you a list to read off?" Emily asked, walking through the halls of the Black Flag HQ. The walls were smooth and painted a glossy, modern black color, with the floors following the same guidelines, only with the addition of various streaks and lines of dark purple in various places.

"Project lead for the whole thing. I volunteered for the position in order to make sure that none of the execs turned you into one of those soulless full-bodies that are devoted exclusively to war. You know, the ones that consist of just a brain in a case? Speaking of the cold bastards, they want you out on another job." Mark explained, speaking in a loathing tone whenever those higher up the power chain were mentioned.

"I think that the train bomb incident is enough evidence that I shouldn't be doing any more protection jobs. At least, not until everything with Maksim blows over." Emily pointed out, walking towards the armory anyway.

"That's the thing: this isn't a protection job. You're heading to Brazil. Apparently there are some street gangs getting exceptionally territorial in the favelas outside of Sao Paulo, and the local law enforcement doesn't want to deal with it. As long as you don't let the fighting spread into the actual city, you should be fine." Mark clarified, double-checking the briefing file directly in front of him.

"So all I have to do is kill some noisy gang bangers that are getting too argumentative over a favela? Sounds easy enough." Emily guessed, eventually reaching the armory. Stepping inside, the lights for the room turned on to reveal racks upon racks of firearms, easily enough to arm every person trained to use a gun that works at Black Flag. It being a 'public' armory, the only thing in the room that was really exclusive to her was the drawer on the left wall, close to the door, that contained her Haven Trooper armor. Pulling it out, Emily quickly noticed some design edits.

"Pretty much. Also, as I'm sure you just noticed, we made some changes to your suit in order to accommodate your prosthetics. The suit now locks in with your enhancements at the knees, and the same happens with your arms at the shoulders. It makes the suit easier to wear alongside your enhancements without sacrificing performance. In the end, when you're wearing it, you'll feel no different than before." Mark elaborated, waiting for Emily's response.

"Well at least you passed up on one opportunity to make my life worse by a little bit." Emily prodded, watching as small fasteners on the suit locked in with her leg prosthetics, essentially sealing the suit.

"I figured I needed to cut you a little bit of slack. Don't expect it to last though." Mark jabbed, waiting as Emily proceeded to pick her firearms.

"Since when did we start carrying these?" Emily asked, holding up an MG4.

"Just recently. Feel like trying it?" Mark asked, knowing that Emily's prominent background with small arms didn't stop her love for heavy weapons.

"I do, but it probably wouldn't be the best choice for a favela." Emily oddly mused, putting the MG4 away in exchange for a P90. Starting to reach for her Five-Seven, Emily was stopped by a brushed chrome glint and an evil idea.

"Don't tell me you're really thinking of using _that_." Mark feared, knowing where Emily's mind was going.

"Oh _hell_ _yes_ I am." Emily grinned, picking a Desert Eagle chambered for .50 AE rounds out of the racks. Grabbing a magazine, Emily took the hand-cannon of a sidearm over to a firing range on the far right side of the room. Loading the Desert Eagle, Emily proceeded to do something an unaugmented human could only dream of doing: firing it with one hand.

"_Why_ did we have to order those?" Mark asked himself, safely guessing that Emily had found a new permanent sidearm. This dread was only strengthened when Emily's augments proved strong enough for her to not only successfully fire it with one hand, but with virtually no recoil.

"You know, maybe getting blown up wasn't so bad after all!" Emily cheered, putting the Desert Eagle in her suit's right thigh holster.

"Well, now that your gleeful sadist moment is over, get down to the helipads." Mark almost ordered, probably just wanting to get Emily out of the armory before she found any more new 'toys'.

"You're just jealous that you can't fire a Desert Eagle with one hand." Emily taunted, grabbing her helmet before leaving the armory.

"Well honestly I'm more jealous of the fact that you can actually walk, but…" Mark trailed off, trying to bite back with a guilt trip. It seemed to work, as Emily's expression almost dulled when she remembered that Mark was paralyzed from the waist down, hence why he was stuck on a desk job.

'Uh, yeah." Emily mumbled, now hurrying to the elevator that would take her down to the helipad. Waiting patiently, the elevator eventually reached the helipad, which was placed just a few floors below the top of the building. Hearing the ding, Emily stepped out of the elevator and through a set of doors, coming to an outdoor helipad. Parked in the center of the platform was a black Sikorsky CH-53 Sea Stallion, with the Black Flag logo printed very clearly on the side doors.

"Oh, Emily, one thing that I forgot to ask you." Mark spoke up, causing Emily to stop just short of the chopper.

"Yeah?" Emily asked, proceeding to get into the Sea Stallion.

"Try to not go too nuts. I know you're not exactly a loose cannon, but we still don't want eviscerated gang members making the headlines." Mark joked, knowing that it could very well happen anyway.


	3. Not the Neck!

Author's Note

Like I said, this chapter was going to be much bigger than the last. A lot of the research I've done has gone into trying to make custom enemy factions for this story, one of said factions that had a lot of effort put into it actually debuting in this chapter. Any feedback or questions, especially on the customs PMCs, is highly appreciated. Also, I wanted to have some tiny pieces of dialogue from enemies in Portuguese, but I only know English, and the language class I'm taking is for Latin, so I had to use Google Translate. There is an accompanying English translation in parentheses, but if any readers actually speak Portuguese, any reviews pointing out Google Translate's inevitable grammatical errors is highly appreciated.

To Guest (Don't know exactly what SA stands for): Yeah…I typically listen to music on Youtube when writing, especially when drumming up ideas for writing. With that said, I was trying to come up with a name for Black Flag when I noticed an AC IV ad in the suggested videos. It was pretty much an instant lightbulb moment from there…

Chapter 3: Not the Neck!

Airspace near São Paulo, Brazil. 10:45 A.M.

Still being primarily biological, Emily was currently asleep as the Sea Stallion made its way to the favelas near São Paulo. She was, almost humorously, sprawled across one of the bench-like seats in the back, which were usually meant to seat 4 or 5 people, her left arm and leg hanging lazily over the edge. Everything was completely peaceful. That is, until a loud buzzing noise woke Emily up, her reaction being just short of going through the roof of the chopper.

"The fuck was that?!" Emily yelled, having fallen completely off of the seat and landing on her P90, which had been very hazardously used as a makeshift pillow up until few seconds ago.

"Just testing out your enhancements again." Mark's voice chimed in, sounding like he was grinning like a madman.

"You put a buzzer in my skull?" Emily asked, starting to hope that death by stairs wasn't suspicious for a cripple.

"No, it's still your two-way radio. It's just that I can choose to call you, or I can make it play loud noises if I need to wake you up immediately." Mark explained, sounding like he was deriving enjoyment from this.

"And I thought social media liked to invade someone's privacy." Emily muttered, grabbing her P90 before standing up.

"Alright, we're over the favelas. Just drop the rear hatch and jump, wouldn't be safe to land anywhere." The pilot of the Sea Stallion called out over the radio, bringing the helicopter as close to the ground as he safely could in a crowded favela.

"So, I'll be safe jumping from a height like this?" Emily asked, dropping the back ramp and guessing that the drop was about 30-35 feet.

"If you were normal? No. With your augments? You could survive a fall that was twice that height, so jump." Mark assured, knowing that the augments were built to sustain worse impacts. Deciding to just jump, Emily walked off the edge of the ramp. Everything would was going according to plan, right up until Emily realized that she had dropped out of the chopper directly over a small house. Hitting the poorly built roof, Emily's weight caused the roof to give in, generating a massive amount of noise as she literally fell into the makeshift living room of a small house.

"Well, that could've gone better." Emily mumbled, pushing a large chunk of sheet metal off of herself. Feeling like she had smashed more than just the roof, Emily looked down to see she had also crushed some sort of cheap wooden table. Not thinking much of it, Emily proceeded to freeze as she got up, realizing that the couple who owned the house were sitting on a raggedy couch not five feet away.

"Hey, Emily?" Mark prodded over the headset, sounding like he had a suggestion.

"Yeah?" Emily asked, staring at the couple, who were staring back in confusion.

"Get out of there. Like, nice and slow, not kicking the front door open." Mark suggested, probably watching the whole event unfold through Emily's helmet cam. Deciding to follow Mark's advice, Emily casually got up and walked to the door. Without even thinking, Emily pulled on the doorknob, ripping the flimsy handle clean out of the door as it swung open.

"So, before I end up accidentally vandalizing somebody else's house, do you have any sort of a guess on where these gangs are?" Emily asked, checking her P90 as she walked down the messy path.

"Yeah, there's three gangs. the Morte de Cães, the Followers of Debas, and the Daughters of Danto." Mark started to explain, starting to go into a long field briefing.

"The Followers of Debas, as their association with the Haitian Voodoo god of transporting souls would imply, specialize mostly in people. They've got some small gun running and meth businesses on the side, but trafficking is their big payday. They came here about three months ago along with the Daughters of Danto from northern Haiti to try and expand their business into São Paulo. With the Debas handling trafficking and the Danto handling gun running, they were starting to give the Morte, who are actually local, a run for their money. At least, up until a month and a half ago when some sort of dispute between the two Haitian gang leaders caused them to split. Now it's just a three-way bloody civil war in the favelas, and the Morte are the only ones who look like they're winning." Mark explained, looking over whatever files on the three gangs that he could pull from local police records.

"Well what's the deal with the Morte? Because it sounds like they're not just an average gang if they're winning a three-way war." Emily reasoned, feeling like the stakes were a bit higher than either of them thought.

"The police records don't show much. Really all I can find is that they're a local gang, and large in size. No Morte members have been arrested, and there are no photos or video evidence of them." Mark said confusedly, finding only the bare minimum of evidence that they even existed. Before Emily could say anything in return, the sound of automatic gunfire quickly got her attention. Hugging the left side of the alleyway she was in, Emily slowly crept closer and closer to the gunfire, eventually coming to an abandoned shack. Quickly slipping inside, Emily quietly snuck over to a small hole in one of the wooden walls before taking off her helmet in order to effectively peek through. At least, without a glowing LED giving away her position. Peeking through the hole, Emily saw what looked to be two groups of people exchanging fire. One was comprised entirely of women, and the other primarily men, with both parties dressed in raggedy clothes and wielding AK-47s. Watching the gunfight rage on, Emily didn't think much of it until a mechanical howl could be heard, sounding like it was coming from directly above her. Watching the two groups turn to the source of the noise, Emily could almost feel the shack shake as an LQ-84 Fenrir leapt from the top of the shack into the middle of the two warring factions. Pulling the HF-Chainsaw off of its back, the Fenrir proceeded to quickly cleave one of the female gangsters in half before bisecting a man from the other faction as well.

"Mark, since when did street gangs have fucking Fenrirs?!" Emily whispered frantically as she watched the carnage, trying to avoid being noticed by the LQ-84.

"What?" Mark asked, bewildered. Tuning into the cameras in Emily's optical implants, Mark saw that she wasn't kidding. The Fenrir looked fairly standard, aside from the plating being painted in a white and red urban camo, with the semitransparent cranial casing colored white with red camo stripes, and the single optic glowing lime green.

"Yeah. Can you try to find out who owns it? Last time I checked there was some sort of remote I.D. system for these things." Emily asked, continuing to watch as the Fenrir impaled a man on the end of the chainsaw, flicking him into another small shack shortly after. Seemingly soaking up whatever gunfire actually hit it, the Fenrir was quickly making a bloody mess out of the small clearing that it was in.

"Already done. Looks like we found out why the Morte are winning: they're a fellow PMC, not a street gang. Can't find anything on who they're backed by though, so how they got their own Fenrir is beyond me." Mark explained, still sounding slightly confused. Not too keen on fighting a Fenrir at the moment, Emily put her helmet back on and started to abandon the shack.

"Either way, I'm not about to get into a fight with a Fenrir. I'll probably just let it rampage around town for a bit and come back when it might be a bit weak-" Emily started to plan out, being abruptly cut off as a long, silver cable shot through the wooden wall behind her before coiling itself around her neck. Being literally pulled through the wall of the shack, Emily now found herself empty-handed and staring down the LQ-84, which proceeded to pull out its chainsaw again.

"Hey, Emily?" Mark prodded, sounding like he had something useful to say.

"Yeah?" Emily asked, cautiously staring down the Fenrir.

"While you were on an operating table, we decided to upgrade some of your stuff. Your machete now has a High-Frequency function, so you should be able to take out that Fenrir if you're careful." Mark elaborated. Pulling out her machete, Emily watched as the blade quickly crackled with electricity. Feeling better about her odds, Emily was prepared to take on the Fenrir until five men appeared on a high-up ledge behind the Fenrir. Getting a good look at them, the center man was dressed in baggy jeans and a sleeveless dark green shirt, which showed off an exponential amount of tattoos. Adorning the man's head was a faded green bandana to cover his face, another one with an image of a white skull tied around his forehead, and sunglasses to hide his eyes. Probably the burliest of the group, the man was fittingly holding an HK21 with a drum mag, the brute being dumb enough to hold it at hip level. Standing on either side of him were two female gang members, both wearing equally faded cargo jeans and hoodie sweaters, the hoods being used to completely hide their physical features from view in tandem with black-tinted FR-M40 gas masks. Both of them were holding SG-552 Commando carbines, with what looked to be a sheath for a machete slung diagonally around their hips like a crooked belt, and AMT Hardballer pistols stuffed unprofessionally into their back pockets. Making up the outside ranks of the firing line were two men armed with FN FAL OSW rifles. They were dressed similarly to the women, the only difference being their hoods were lowered, and their faces were covered with the same dual bandana and sunglasses trick that the bruiser in the middle used.

"You know, I'd love to stay, but…" Emily trailed off before quickly flinging her machete at the Fenrir, which impaled it directly through the optic. Not seeing the machete as being irreplaceable, Emily immediately turned and ran towards the complex favela network behind her. Keeping her head down in order to avoid the cacophony of gunfire overhead, Emily eventually ducked into a two-story brick building. Deciding to wait out the gunfire, Emily was caught off guard when another merc resembling the two gas mask-wearing ones from before came down the stairs holding a tablet. Alerted by Emily's presence, the merc quickly dropped the tablet and bolted for Emily. Almost in an instant the merc got hold of her throat in an unusually iron-like grip.

"The fu…" Emily choked out in confusion, watching as the merc, who had to be at least 6'1, effortlessly lifted Emily off the ground with one hand. Acting out of desperation, Emily extended the claws on her feet before delivering a quick kick to the merc's right thigh, making the superhuman drop her target.

"É isso aí. Vou estripar você comò um peixe maldito! (That's it. I'll gut you like a goddamn fish!)" The merc yelled in Portuguese, pulling the machete out of her belt sheath. The claws definitely seemed to work, as the merc was a bit more sluggish, and the thigh area of her jeans looked like it was starting to seep some sort of white liquid. Trying to shrug it off, the merc lunged at Emily, machete in hand. Going for an overhead slash, the merc couldn't quite move fast enough as Emily ducked under the blade. Stepping behind the merc, Emily was able to grab hold of her right arm before twisting it out of place, forcing the abnormal assailant to drop her machete. Acting quickly, Emily proceeded to kick the merc face-first into the wall, who spun around just in time to find Emily had pulled a Desert Eagle on her.

"Porcaria…(Crap…)" The merc groaned, shortly before the loud bang of Emily's DE silenced her permanently. Wanting to see what made her adversary so strong, Emily knelt down beside the dead merc, rolling up the woman's right sleeve for a better look. Sure enough, the woman's entire right forearm looked like a dark green and gray jumpsuit, the direct connection to the flesh on the rest of her arm showing that the merc was actually a cyborg. Checking the other arm, Emily found the exact same thing. Picking through the corpse's pockets, Emily eventually came upon a small credit card-like object.

"Hey, Mark. I just ran into an augmented Morte de Cães member. Lucky bitch." Emily said in an almost loathing tone, looking at the dead merc.

"Great, looks like that's something else to worry about. And what do you mean lucky? That merc's cybernetics are probably only half as advanced as yours." Mark reasoned, not understanding Emily's latter point.

"You kidding me? I'm not jealous about that. What's bugging me is the bust this merc had. Practically makes me look like I'm 5." Emily complained, completely going off track.

"Glad to know you haven't changed a bit…" Mark sighed, knowing that he probably should've expected as much.

"Just making an observation. Also, I got some sort of keycard off of her. I'm going to head upstairs and see if it's linked to anything." Emily added, taking the keycard and heading up the staircase behind her. Once at the top of the stairs, Emily found herself standing in front of an out of place door with a keycard lock. Using the card, the door opened to reveal what looked to be a well-hidden UG workshop. Stepping inside the room, Emily found just about every small UG on the market, with two Sliders hanging on a wall to her right, a deactivated Fenrir laying on a table to her left, and a second deactivated Fenrir slumped up against the wall in front of her. Another table on the far wall had multiple desktop computers, with a massive array of flash drives and USB cables covering the desktop. Whoever that merc was, it looks like she spent a lot of time working with UGs.

"Looks like they have quite the setup. Head back downstairs and take that merc's left forearm, then get out of there. I think we've got more important things to do than fighting now." Mark suggested, sounding like he was deep in thought.

"The right one wouldn't do?" Emily asked as she walked back downstairs, grabbing a G36K rifle off of the Fenrir table on the way down.

"No, since the left arm will have all of that merc's data stored on a 3d holo-drive, and chances are most of it will probably be valuable. Video logs, passwords, encryption keys, tons of stuff. If you get that left arm back to me safely, I can probably find out just about everything regarding the Morte's operations in the area." Mark explained, setting up a program on another monitor in preparation.

"So will this thing just come off, or will I need to be a bit more…'forceful' with it?" Emily inquired, spotting the merc's old machete.

"If she's still alive, it should pop right off. Otherwise you'll need to find some way to sever it forcefully." Mark answered, guessing that the latter situation was more probable. Reaching for the machete, Emily raised it above her head before bringing it down with a visceral chop noise, severing the forearm and coating the machete in white blood.

"Got the arm. Do I need to carry the whole forearm, or is there a detachable drive that I can pick out of this thing?" Emily asked, looking at the inside of the severed arm.

"There should be a small crystalline object inside the arm. That's all I really need." Mark answered, Examining it closer, Emily eventually spotted the crystalline object in question, effortlessly picking it out of the arm before storing it safely in her back-hip ammo pouch.

"Well, now I'm carrying the holo-drive, so do you have a way for me to get out of here?" Emily inquired as she stepped out of the building, throwing the empty forearm over her shoulder.

"Yep, the chopper should be on its way to meet you about a half a mile uphill. Get up there so we can know a bit more about our new friends." Mark assured, marking a digital waypoint for Emily to follow. Trying to avoid the main routes, Emily quietly ducked through a side-alley. Hearing the sound of heavy metallic stomping, Emily quickly found cover behind a pile of garbage bags before bearing witness to her fourth unfortunate surprise of the day.

"Mark, either I'm hallucinating or the Morte are more well-connected than I thought, because there's a Raptor UG just around the corner." Emily whispered, watching as the massive two-legged gun platform of a UG stomped down the street. Stopping just in front of the alleyway, the custom-painted urban camo Raptor stared in Emily's direction ominously before letting out a low growl and moving on.

"You've got to be joking, Raptor UG's just passed prototype testing with AT Security last month!" Mark exclaimed, almost getting frustrated by just how little he knew about the Morte de Cães' connections.

"Sadly, I'm being serious. Looked just like one, moved just like one, hell it even had the same armament as a Raptor." Emily listed off, standing up slowly as the Raptor's footsteps got softer.

"Damn, just get out of there before it, or any other UGs that these guys might have can find you." Mark emphasized. Silently nodding, Emily started to creep around the corner until the sound of garbage bags being knocked around, coupled with muffled swearing got her attention. Turning around, Emily made metaphorical eye contact with yet another gas-masked merc, this one down on the floor after presumably tripping on some garbage bags. Dropping her rifle, Emily lunged at the merc, quickly getting hold of the assailant's throat before lifting the merc up and slamming her into a wall.

"Unless you speak English, this is going to be a_ very_ short conversation." Emily threatened, her DE's barrel pressed up against the bottom of the merc's head.

"Yeah, I speak English. I'm American." The merc answered, her hands now raised above her head.

"So what are you doing in a Portuguese PMC?" Emily questioned, slightly confused.

"I don't really think that matters much right now. Either way you'll probably kill me." The merc almost growled, sounding belligerent. Before either of them could speak again, the sound of mechanical howls, as well as a group of people yelling in Portuguese quickly changed the direction of their conversation.

"You know what, lets make a deal: Tell me your name and help me fight off your buddies at an extraction point just up the hill. In return, I won't blow your brains out, and you can come with me when the chopper arrives." Emily suggested, her finger ready on the trigger just in case.

"Fine. Name's Kassandra Taylor." The merc, Kassandra, grumbled, easing up as Emily pulled the DE away from her head.

"Thank you, now let's get moving before the UGs find us." Emily thanked, using her extended heels to quickly fling Kassandra's gun, a G3KA4 carbine with a custom rifle sling, almost into Kass' hands as she stepped back.

"Mind if I ask how you just did that?" Kassandra questioned, looking fairly perplexed.

"I'll explain it later." Emily cut off as she grabbed her G36K, being interrupted by the sound of a loud roar behind her. Whirling around, both women opened fire as the Raptor from earlier stuck its head around the corner. Preparing to fire its M2 Browning HMG into the alley, the Raptor was overwhelmed by the sheer number of rounds impacting its optic. Not able to withstand the punishment, the Raptor's AI cortex was quickly shredded, the large UG letting out a weak cry before collapsing to the ground.

"We need to move fast. That Raptor was synced on a private network with at least 10 other UGs, and Raptors go ballistic when a fellow UG on their network gets taken out." Kassandra explained, reloading her G3K.

"You probably know your way around here better than I do, so do you know the fastest way to the top of the hill that's just north of here?" Emily inquired, also reloading.

"Yeah, I go there all the time. Quickest way is over the rooftops." Kassandra assured, slinging her G3K over her shoulder before running up the wall of the building to her left. Grabbing hold of the edge of the roof, Kassandra quickly pulled herself up, with Emily not far behind. Deciding to look behind them, Emily quickly dreaded the decision.

"Ah crap. We need to get to the top of that hill, _now_." Emily emphasized, watching as a group of at least 30 Morte de Cães were sprinting in their direction, with a small pack of Fenrirs and a Raptor not far behind. Not wasting any time, the two mercenaries quickly hopped from rooftop to rooftop, not letting the sound of the eroded wood and flimsy metal buckling under their feet stop them.

"So, what's somebody like you doing in São Paulo anyway?" Kassandra asked, raising her voice just below a yell as they continued to jump between rooftops.

"I think I should be asking you the same thing." Emily replied, using her claws to scale a taller building before jumping off the opposite side of the roof.

"You'll get your answer soon enough, the hill's only about 30 yards away." Kassandra pointed out, kicking an odd metal object off of the roof of her current building, with said object hitting a stray Debas member who was trying to aim at her.

"Well there is another question that I'm sure you _could_ answer." Emily hinted, hearing the sound of people yelling in Portuguese getting slightly louder.

"Is it a personal question or one about the PMC?" Kassandra questioned, ready to shoot Emily down again until later.

"Why have most of the Morte members I've seen here been women with gas masks? Is it coincidence, or are most women easily brought into PMC work by some sort of Brazilian charm?" Emily wondered, starting to hurry as what sounded like automatic gunfire could be heard.

"They're just Specialists. Professional hackers, ex-military, ex-mercenaries, ex-UG techs, sometimes a combination of the four, and always cyborgs after they join." Kassandra explained, sounding like she was intentionally leaving something out.

"But why are they all women? Sounds like a bad ripoff of the Haven Troopers." Emily pointed out, still missing the full picture.

"Propaganda." Kassandra answered simply.

"What?" Emily asked, extremely confused.

"Making the Specialists exclusively women is a good marketing campaign for new recruits. Have a recruiter walk around with one saying that new recruits get to sleep with them and the poor saps swarm in." Kassandra elaborated, right as they made it to the top of the hill. Conveniently enough for Kassandra's point, the wall of a building on the far side of the hilltop had a Morte de Cães propaganda poster on it. The poster had a large image of the back of a Specialist sitting on her knees, her chest and head turned to face the camera. Below the image was "Join Now!" in large green text.

"Well, do they?" Emily prodded, being genuinely curious.

"Hell no, that's just false advertising to get new members." Kassandra stated bluntly, coming to a stop behind a waist-high brick wall, G3K in hand. Conveniently enough, a large stockpile of ammo had been carelessly left by the wall as well.

"Doesn't surprise me. Speaking of your buddies, they're coming up the hill." Emily warned, jumping behind the brick wall as well. Raising her rifle, Emily focused as two Morte with FALs and a Specialist with a G36K came sprinting up the hill, with more behind them. Firing four rounds in a quick burst, the Specialist dropped to the floor almost immediately.

"Am I seriously the only one out of you idiots deployed here that thought to wear body armor?" Kassandra questioned, almost annoyed at how easily the other Specialists died. Practically emphasizing her point, a burst of gunfire from her carbine took down a Specialist and wounded an accompanying merc carrying an AK-103, the poor grunt being executed by two rounds from Emily.

"By the way, you called the cyborg chicks Specialists, right?" Emily asked, pinning down a Fenrir with a prolonged spray of rounds.

"Yeah." Kassandra answered, wounding an FAL wielding merc with two rounds to the leg.

"Got any names for the other kinds of mercs? I'm starting to see appearance patterns here." Emily pointed out, disorienting the Fenrir with a lucky round to the edge of its cranial casing.

"We call the big guys with the MGs and way too many tattoos Brutes, the guys dressed like a cross between Specialists and Brutes that are carrying just about any battle rifle on the market are Hunters, and anybody else is just called a Grunt." Kassandra explained, landing a round in the head of the Hunter she had wounded as he attempted to peek around a dumpster.

"Well at least now I know what to call them." Emily mumbled, watching as the force of her rounds caused an unlucky Specialist to tumble backwards through a door, having taken 5 to the chest. Turning her attention to two Hunters and a Grunt coming up on the right, Emily was distracted when a blur of movement occurred in the corner of her vision. Turning to the source of the movement, Emily looked just in time to see the Fenrir she was pinning down leap at her. Knocking the ex-Haven Trooper over, the Fenrir grabbed an HF-Knife out of its back leg holster. Catching the end of its manipulator tail, Emily was caught in a close battle, the knife almost reaching her throat until a hard kick from Kass knocked the mechanical dog off. Moving closer to the Fenrir, Kassandra proceeded to pin its neck down with her foot before putting a good half of her magazine into its neck.

"You're welcome." Kassandra stated bluntly, making abundantly obvious what she wanted to hear.

"We haven't even known each other for an hour and you already saved my life. Is that technically good or bad?" Emily wondered, blazing her entire magazine into a Brute that was slowly advancing up a main road.

"Depends on your perspective." Kassandra answered, killing two Grunts with a quick double-tap to each of their heads.

"Thanks for _really_ putting effort into that answer…" Emily trailed off, firing a couple rounds at a wooden beam, which was supporting the roof that a Hunter was residing on. No longer able to support the man's weight, the corner of the roof collapsed, almost dumping the Hunter on top of a moving Specialist. Not expecting the tumbling merc, both were knocked to the floor until Kassandra's carbine ripped through them.

"Hey, I try." Kassandra bantered back, knocking out a Fenrir's optic with three rounds to the head.

"Looks like they're thinning out. Think we killed enough of them?" Emily asked, blowing out the brains of a Specialist attempting to hide behind a beat-up car.

"Probably not. What I want to know is where their Raptor went. You have other people deployed here?" Kassandra questioned, igniting a Brute by shooting a gas can near his feet.

"As far as I know it should be just me. Think someone else is pissing off the Morte too?" Emily counter-questioned, finishing off the flaming Brute.

"Wouldn't surprise me. Some days it seems like everybody short of the police wants a piece of us." Kassandra guessed, killing an exceptionally gutsy Grunt who wandered out of cover. Using what could be the definition of excess force, both women opened fire on a Specialist that was passing in front of a building, the unfortunate merc being coated in bullet holes as the pair emptied their entire magazines into the merc. Slumping against the wall from the wall of bullets, the dying Specialist managed to exert enough force to fire off her SG-552, the round hitting Kassandra square in the stomach. Starting to think the situation just went south, Emily was pleasantly surprised when Kassandra simply stumbled back before righting her posture like nothing happened.

"How?" Emily said, amazed at the lack of blood and general indication of a bullet wound. Kassandra's only response was to lift the bottom of her hoodie in order to reveal a form-fitting Kevlar vest, complete with the Specialist's round harmlessly embedded in the vest.

"Told you I was the only Specialist smart enough to actually wear a vest." Kassandra almost taunted, watching as a Sea Stallion descended, landing on the roof of a nearby building.

"And there's our ride. Think you can do just a bit more climbing?" Emily asked tauntingly, her claws extended in anticipation to scale the building. With a silent nod, both women took off towards the building, Emily clawing her way up while Kassandra almost kicked upwards off the wall, quickly coming within reach of the roof. Once both of them were in, the Sea Stallion took off towards NYC.

"Hey, what's that down there?" Kassandra noticed as they flew over the favela, pointing to an open street on the far side. Looking closer, both women bore witness to what looked to be a man in an off-white muscle suit wielding a red katana, pools of blood and dismembered Morte de Cães giving evidence to his success. Seemingly deflecting bullets with each swing of his sword, the man quickly closed in on a Specialist, cleaving the merc in half at the waist before decapitating an adjacent Hunter. Noticing a Raptor charging down the street, the man casually stood around resting his sword on his shoulder, his free arm extended wide as a gesture of vulnerability. Waiting until the last second, the man quickly sidestepped the Raptor's charge, swinging his blade low in order to cut the Raptor's feet clean off. Struggling to get up, the Raptor was quickly put out with a quick stab through the optic. Not quite done yet, the man finished by pivoting on his heel and performing an upward swing, bisecting a Fenrir that was trying to ambush him.

"Probably what kept the rest of our pursuers busy." Emily guessed, not thinking much of it as the Sea Stallion left the area.


End file.
